


Dancing On A Knife's Edge

by fluttermoth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Drabble, Gen, Introspection, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluttermoth/pseuds/fluttermoth
Summary: Falkreath Sanctuary was doomed.Cicero knew it from the very moment he set foot inside that musty, humid cave. There was too much tension seething in the air. The arrival of the Night Mother had set an unwanted change in motion. It was the seed that germinated doubt in the hearts and minds of Astrid’s underlings. Her siblings would not betray her. No. But they would follow the Listener if one arose, and to Astrid, that was just as unforgivable as a knife in the back.





	Dancing On A Knife's Edge

Falkreath Sanctuary was doomed.

Cicero knew it from the very moment he set foot inside that musty, humid cave. There was too much tension seething in the air. The arrival of the Night Mother had set an unwanted change in motion. It was the seed that germinated doubt in the hearts and minds of Astrid’s underlings. Her siblings would not betray her. No. But they would follow the Listener if one arose, and to Astrid, that was just as unforgivable as a knife in the back.

So the scene was set, and Cicero had his parts to play. To Astrid and her surly husband, Cicero was the witless fool. They saw him as a man broken by time and duty. They saw madness because that is what he wanted them to see— and maybe he _was_ a little bit mad. That only made his ruse all the more believable.

To the others, he was the Fool of Hearts. Full of jokes and mirth to anyone who would pay attention, and when his exuberance began to wear on the maudlin assassins, he slipped into a more sedate, polite guise. They would listen to him then— when he proved he could behave like a ‘proper assassin.’ The Unchild seemed to like him well enough. Festus and Gabriella were eager to return to the old ways, but Nazir and Veezara would take some convincing. Still, Cicero was making himself a part of the family in such a way that Astrid could not kill him without arousing suspicion. 

As well as things were going, it seemed as if the very stars had aligned against him. The newest initiate didn’t care for his carefully crafted deception. She was so full of questions. So many questions for Cicero! She asked about Sithis and the Night Mother, which was well and good. A Dark Brotherhood assassin should be educated in the old ways. But then she started asking about Cheydinhal and _him_ , and by then it had become far too personal.

“Tell me about yourself.” It was not a request. Not like the others had been. Had Astrid sent her to seek him out? Maybe. But Cicero found it hard to believe. Lumen’s mind was very much her own.

“You wish to know about Cicero?” he trilled, hoping to dissuade her simply by playing coy. “There is not much to tell. Cicero is just the happy Keeper.”

“You don’t seem very happy.”

She had him there. Not that Cicero was drowning in misery. But— a life spent in the shadow of the Night Mother’s coffin had not been an easy one. 

_You are right._ “Oh, but Cicero is! He has a new home and a new family!” _But everything is so wrong. The Dark Brotherhood is being led by the pretender and her lap dog, and we’ve been here for days and the Night Mother has not seen fit to speak._

If Lumen thought he was lying, she didn’t say so. She turned her attention to the Night Mother and took a step forward. Her boots crushed the petals of nightshade he’d scattered across the floor. A rich, bitter scent filled the room. The toxic tang of those deadly petals cloyed in the air and stuck in the back of his throat. But Lumen stood beside him, and soon he did not smell the nightshade at all, but the earthy bouquet of dried leaves and leather. 

Her eyes were as bright as an autumn sunset as she gazed up at the Night Mother. It had been _so long_ since Cicero had seen anyone look at mother in that way, he couldn't help but stare back at the elf for as long as she would allow it. In that moment, her mask fell away, and he saw longing and sorrow; a brittle fragility she tried to conceal under layers of acerbity and sarcasm.

A hand dropped to the dagger strapped to her hip, her fingers caressing the hilt with all the tenderness of a lover. “I should leave,” she said with a rueful smile. “Places to go; people to kill. You know how it is.”

Oh, how he _missed_ those days. It had been so long since he plied his trade. “Yes, yes. Cicero knows.”

Cicero decided he liked this sister best of all when he saw her slip her thumbnail beneath the other to clean away a remnant of dried blood. Assassins tend to wear gloves when they work, and if they don’t, they’ll scrub their hands raw just to wash away all trace of a messy kill. But not this one. Lumen gave her hands a quick wash, but she didn’t clean her nails. She kept the blood there as a trophy.

“Behave yourself while I’m gone.” Her smile grew a little wider, a shadow dimpling her cheek as she left the room.

The next few days passed by in a blur of repetition. Cicero felt Lumen’s absence keenly. He liked that she sought him out and asked him a volley of inane questions. It was nothing more than idle talk. But after years of solitude and silence, Cicero rather liked having someone to keep him occupied.

* * *

Lumen returned on a Fredas. 

She appeared in the Night Mother’s chamber sometime after midnight. Cicero didn’t move from his place in the shadows, preferring to watch for a while. A small package of wax paper and twine appeared in her hand, and she burrowed her fingers inside to pluck out a tiny morsel. Of what, Cicero did not know, but he didn’t like the idea of an initiate eating in front of the Night Mother. It took him ages to clean this room!

A muscle worked in his jaw as he strode forward, insistent on scolding his sister and running her out of the room. But when Lumen noticed his presence she flinched and held the package close to her chest. A laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it. The gesture was so childlike, and it amused him more than he wanted to admit. 

She pressed a bit of her coveted treasure in his hand before he could ask what it was. “Don’t tell the others,” she said, crunching loudly on the treat already in her mouth. “These are expensive, and I don’t want to share.”

“But you will share with Cicero?” he asked, glancing down at the sugar-coated almond in his palm.

“You caught me. I reckon I don’t have much choice.”

There were so many things he _meant_ to do. He meant to scold her and send her away. It was not his intention to sit down beside her and eat the candied nut she’d given him. He’d not planned to accept another— and another. 

They sat there in the Night Mother’s presence, quietly crunching on the sweet treats until there were no more. In the end, Cicero was pleased. His sister had not made a mess; she has sucked the sugar from her fingertips and placed the remains of the package in her pocket to dispose of later. She had not come to disrespect the Night Mother, as Cicero had thought, but to indulge in a quiet moment.

Cicero hoped for more of those moments— and for more of those little, candied almonds if Lumen was of a mind to share.

* * *

Loredas dawned with a flurry of snow and a change the Dark Brotherhood desperately needed.

_“Darkness rises when silence dies.”_

In the long second it took for him to process what he heard, Cicero was pummeled by a myriad of conflicting emotions. The words hurt and healed him in the span of one breath to the next. He’d hoped they would mend the yawning chasm in his soul. But they tore at him, shredding him apart, bit by bit. 

Lumen. The cruel, capricious, candy-hoarding Bosmer was the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood.

Well— he’d be lying if he said he was disappointed. Yes, he wanted to be the Listener. He tried so hard to listen. But mother never spoke to him, and she never would. But out of all the siblings gathered in the Sanctuary, he had to agree with mother’s choice. Lumen was fit for the job. She had not been in the Sanctuary long, and therefore, she was not as loyal to Astrid as the others were.

The Listener was staring at him, her eyes wide and _wild_ like a trapped animal. She was right to be afraid, but he could not comfort her. His feet started to move on their own accord, and he couldn't bite back the shriek of unadulterated joy that rose from his throat. He did it! Loyal Cicero found the Listener! The Night Mother must surely be pleased with him!

Unfortunately, the newly initiated Listener was not pleased with him. For his shrieking had drawn the attention of Astrid, who burst into the room with daggers in her hands and a malevolent thirst in her eyes. She was not worried for Lumen’s safety— though she made a rather good show of it, Cicero must admit. He wondered if Astrid was the reason Lumen had foolishly crept into the Night Mother’s coffin. It’s not as if his sister had explained her strange behavior. She merely stumbled from the coffin and blurted out the binding words, and Cicero had been so caught up in delight he’d completely forgotten to press the issue.

There was no point in doing so. If Lumen was acting on Astrid’s orders, it no longer mattered. The Night Mother’s voice was potent and intoxicating, and the pretender’s control over his sister would scatter like embers on a kindling wind.

Astrid baited Lumen with barbs and disbelief. The Listener did not fight her, but nor did she shrink away. She explained what had happened, and offered no excuses. After aiming a few scathing remarks at Cicero, Astrid stormed from the room. The fear that had crept into Lumen’s eyes had cooled into something sharper— deadlier. She glared at the retreating form of the Dark Brotherhood’s so-called leader. They were dancing on a knife’s edge, and soon it would no longer be a metaphor.

“Cicero—” Lumen’s voice was quiet yet firm when she said, “you do realize she is going to kill us, yes?”

Truth be told, she sounded more excited than afraid.

“Well,” he laughed. “She is certainly welcome to try.”

The Listener’s gaze met his, and they shared a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble inspired by some prompts from tumblr. The words I needed to use were "stars" and "hope." 
> 
> My intent was to show the beginnings of infatuation without being terribly obvious about it. I'm not sure if I succeeded, but I am happy with this. Cicero's POV is always fun to explore.


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